Bald, bold and beautifully free

WESTERN BUREAU:

For decades, Joy Clark embraced the polished image often expected of women in corporate Jamaica – relaxed hair, perfect poise, and a presence fit for both the boardroom and the church pew. But recently, she made the boldest move of her life: she cut off all of her hair.

Plagued by alopecia from years of chemical relaxers, Clark had planned to hide behind five carefully chosen wigs. She worried how her congregation might react, how her professional image would change, and whether the decision would cost her more than her hair.

When she entered church for the first time after the “big chop”, she did so with her chin high, even after a church member rebuked her, unaware of the silent battle she had fought.

“I see myself as beautiful,” Clark told Sunday Lifestyle. “My children, my husband, my co-workers, and my family, they empower me.”

And society? That is a harder conversation. Because even with her accomplishments as director of corporate and government relations at Digicel, chairman of the Digicel Foundation, deacon in her church, and director of the Montego Bay Chamber of Commerce and Industry, the world too often still treats natural black hair as defiance rather than expression.

But, Joy Clark is not alone. Alopecia, in its various forms, affects millions of people in the United States and disproportionately impacts black women. Research published in the Journal of the American Academy of Dermatology notes that traction alopecia, a type of hair loss caused by tight hairstyles, relaxers, and years of manipulation, is the most common form among African-American women.

Yet rarely spoken about openly.

“I would walk into rooms and constantly worry that someone might notice the patches,” Clark admits. “There’s a deep fear of being perceived as less; less professional, less attractive, less feminine, because we’ve been fed that narrative for so long.”

She remembers the anxiety that came with meetings, church services, and photo ops, all while making sure that her ponytail was firmly in place. She had options, but they were created to hide, not heal.

“What we’re taught is that to be presentable; we must first be polished, and ‘polished’ means straight hair, covered hair, long hair. There’s a whole economy around it.”

For women in high-ranking professional roles, the pressure is even greater. “The higher you climb,” says Clark, “The more you feel you need to conform to a look that makes everyone else comfortable.”

The turning point came not in a boardroom, but in a mirror. “I had had enough,” she says. “Enough of hiding, enough of moulding myself into an image that didn’t reflect my truth.”

Deciding to do the big chop and cut off her relaxed, thinning hair to start fresh took more courage than any corporate negotiation she had faced. But it was also her most liberating act.

“I cried. I was scared. But then I looked at myself and I saw … me. Not the version I’d been putting out, but the real me, and she was beautiful.”

Still, the journey was not without backlash. Even at church, one member felt compelled to criticise her choice. “That hurt,” she admits. “Because they didn’t know the story. They didn’t know I was showing up with more courage than I’ve ever had.”

Clark drew strength not only from her own resolve but also from the unwavering love of her family. Her husband stayed steadfastly supportive, and her sons, now young men, cheer her on with pride.

One son, Jordan, plays a central role in a chapter that reveals the fierce selflessness driving her transformation.

Years ago, after a volunteer trip to Alabama focused on autism awareness, Clark returned home with bags of educational material. She left them on her son Jordan’s desk, unaware that those pamphlets would shape his future.

Jordan, then a young attorney newly called to the Jamaican Bar, came across the brochures and became intrigued by a medical-management programme at the University of Alabama. Quietly, he applied and was accepted.

When he broke the news to his parents, Clark’s first reaction was laughter. “We had just finished paying for law school, and his younger brother was about to start,” she recalls. “We told him: ‘You’re not an only child. There’s no money for another degree.’”

But Jordan was undeterred. Days later, he parked his car in the driveway with a ‘For Sale’ sign. He was ready to fund his dream by any means necessary.

That was when Clark made a life-altering decision. She applied for voluntary separation from her job to support her son’s education. Her application was granted. She sold her car, financed his studies, and stood proudly at his graduation when he topped his class.

In that period of transition, she also reinvented herself, earning her real estate licence, starting her own business, and later joining ATL Automotive as director of sales. There, she turned a disengaged team into a high-performing sales force.

Eventually, she was recruited back to Digicel, where she now oversees corporate affairs and government relations.

But no title has meant more than the one she now owns: unapologetically herself.

By shedding her wigs and embracing her natural crown, Joy Clark is reclaiming space for herself and countless women like her.

“When we stop hiding, we start healing,” she explains. “And in that healing, we give others permission to do the same.”

janet.silvera@gleanerjm.com